


This Touch, It's Too Much

by TremblyBird



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BUT ONLY A LITTLE BIT LIKE THE FIC IS A HAMBURGER AND VOICE KINK IS THE SECRET SAUCE, Back Pain, Begging, Chronic Pain, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Petting, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Discovery, Light Petting, M/M, Massage, Medium Petting is the hamburger, Medium Petting?????, No beta I die, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Quiet Noctis Lucis Caelum, Shame, Shy Noctis Lucis Caelum, Sort Of, Subspace, Touch-Starved, Unexplicitly Explicit, Voice Kink, gentle Gladio, kind of, pain relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TremblyBird/pseuds/TremblyBird
Summary: Noctis crumbles when his old injury starts acting up, and Gladio's there to soothe it better. But Noctis isn't prepared for how much just the most careful caresses from his shield threaten to completely overwhelm him.Or:Noctis struggles to cope with his New And Weirdly Specific Kink
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 49
Kudos: 285





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i CANNOT tell if anyone else will enjoy this or if the links are way too specific hahaha, but I can never find fics like this so I am daring to do it myself! If any of y'all like it, please let me know, I have no clue if this is remotely interesting to anyone who isn't me hahahahaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: re-edited March 25, 2020 for better pacing!

He has training with Gladio today. That’s nothing new. It’s expected and routine by now. And, sure, it’s draining to keep up with, and Gladio can be a dick about it, but it’s basically manageable. Sometimes, it’s even nice. Like when he pulls off a maneuver flawlessly after a long practice, and Gladio does one of those huge smiles—all teeth, and all pride—and he always feels it in his chest. Yes, Gladio’s methods are notoriously critical, but what that really means is he can always expect him to be genuine. If he isn’t doing well, then Gladio sure as hell won’t sugarcoat it.

He doesn’t deny the part of him that wishes Gladio would chill the fuck out about it sometimes, but those moments where he gets a technique just right and Gladio smiles at him so fondly, or throws a heavy hand down on his shoulder in praise, it’s all worth it. Those days make it all worth it.

But today’s not going to be one of those days. He already knows it.

He knew it from the moment he woke up, feeling that dull ache at the base of his spine that inevitably grew with his every move. He’s used to the old injury giving him bouts of trouble, but usually he can just wair it out, or breathe through it, or stand under the pressure of a hot shower until the pain sears away. But when it gets like this…

He doesn’t know when it started getting this bad again. It just crept in like a slow boil, and now he’s starting to drown in it. Honestly, the old wound never stopped being sore—always a reliable tenderness to the damned spot—but, on mornings like this, he swears there’s pins.

Like little sewing needles pincushioned under his skin, he  _ feels  _ them there, and needs to keep constant awareness of where each point sits as he moves, lest he nudge a muscle against even one of them. It’s more pain than he can afford to deal with these days.

Needless to say, there’s a lot of pins.

But he keeps his mouth shut about it. Because, well, it’s not  _ every _ day. Most days, it’s nothing. And, when it’s not nothing, it’s usually just the normal kind of ache he can ignore easily enough. It’s manageable. So, if it stabs at him just a little worse on occasion, that’s not worth upending his already inflexible schedule over. And it sure as hell isn’t worth seeing Gladio’s disappointment in his weakness.

He needs to prove he’s better than that.

But he’s starting to think that maybe today it was hopeless to even try.

“Okay, hold up. What’s up.”

Gladio takes on a confrontational, but non-combative stance, signaling the round of sparring to a halt, watching him with an expression thick with suspicion.

Noctis swallows, and it’s dry.

He should do something. Spit out a cocky “Nothing!” and rile Gladio up back into the fight. But… he’s stuck. Even before starting, his muscles were buzzing with pain. Now, having sustained so many collisions under the force of their weapons, he’s nearly vibrating with it. But, he’s still managing to stand, because he thinks he found just the right position to keep, where the pain isn’t utterly distracting or blinding. If he stays like this, stance wide, back tilted a slight degree down and to the right, he thinks it aggravates the least amount of pins. It’s stiff, and awkward, but he can at least breathe and recollect himself.

But it still  _ hurts _ . 

It still hurts, and it’s not just in his back anymore, like it got fucking bored and roamed aimlessly into his arms and legs, and it’s getting worse. So maybe he shouldn’t be fighting anymore. Maybe he should just drop everything and start the long limp back to his room where he can attempt to sleep the ache away. Hell, he’s gonna need all the time he can get to even make it back up there like this.

But Gladio’s face…

That frustration.

Disappointment.

“I’ll be f—fine.” He insists, and tries not to visibly shake as he shifts his limbs back into position. “I’ll do better. Go again.”

“Nuh uh,” Gladio shakes his head. “Your stance has been stiff the whole damn time, and I know you’re not sloppy like that. Are you—”

“I’m fine!” He insists—because he  _ needs _ to be-and he takes two strides forward.

He’s occupied with making sure his grip is firm on the training sword, and that he’s in position to leap forward at Gladio with full strength, or maybe even pull off a quick warp maneuver that will shut him up, but, instead, he realizes he’s found a special position that hits every pin in his back at once.

He gasps, some kind of shriek that would have been loud and shrill if he didn’t force himself to cut it off at the pitiful yelp it was. His eyes immediately burn with tears in the same instant the sword is gone from his hands.

He falls, and all the weight lands on his knees. The impact sends another wave of pain through him, and sends another scream up his throat that he narrowly manages to keep down. The sound that comes out instead though is pathetic and strangled.

“ _ Shit, _ Noct!?” Gladio yells in the wake of that noise, and then he’s right in front of him in rushed strides.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck it fucking  _ hurts. _ Surely just short of actually having his spine shattered, but maybe at least then he could count on passing out. Instead, he’s trembling all over, breathing shallow and hard, doing nothing and everything he can not to move even a half-degree in any direction. Even just holding this position feels like a mess of barbed wire had been pulled taut against his spine, and if he applies any pressure on it to turn, rise, or fall, the barbs will sink in deep to stab him all over again. So he can’t. 

He  _ can’t  _ move.

“It… it  _ hurts _ ,” he grits out, because he can’t think to do anything else. The burning in his eyes turns to liquid down his face, and maybe between crying in front of Gladio and whimpering about his pain to him, he should be ashamed, disgraced, and hating himself, but all that’s there is fear, panic, and desperation. His back is trying to rip itself to shreds, he can’t make it stop, his shield is  _ right _ in front of him, and he just wants him to  _ please make the pain stop. _ “It hurts. It hurts it hurts  _ it hurts. _ ”

“Oh, fuck,  _ shit _ , Noct? Noct?” He keels down as frantically as he speaks, scanning all over him with a wide, distressed expression. “Noct, talk to me buddy. What hurts? Fuck, breathe,  _ breathe _ , Noct. C’mon, slow it down.”

He draws in a longer breath, daring to ease the stuttering quickness of it, but he gasps in too much air all at once and his throat immediately closes up. His jaw clenches down, and he tries to ignore the whimpering sound that follows.

“My… my back.” he barely manages.

“... Got it…” Gladio says, and raises his hands up in a hesitant motion before testing a light grip on his side and shoulder. It’s light enough that it doesn’t make the pain worse, which means it’s also too light to hold him up, but it’s still an immediate relief to have something else supporting his muscles in their trembling effort.

The hand Gladio has on his shoulder rubs cautiously around the joint, feeling out the muscle underneath, before sliding around to do the same at his back, like he’s trying to find the source of the pain.

But… he doesn’t  _ want _ him to find it. Sure, Gladio’s touches aren’t painful—not yet—but, if he pushes his hand to where the needles are sewn in, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold back the inevitable scream.

The hand gets closer to it, and he inhales sharply.

“N-n-n-no, Gladio, stop.  _ Stop _ . It’s going to fucking hurt if you do that,  _ please.” _

Gladio goes completely stiff, and the hand stops just at the edge of the injury. “...Okay. Noct, I’m gonna help you, but to do that I gotta find out where the injury is.”

“It’s  _ my back.” _ he says again, frustrated and desperate.

“...You mean like your old injury?”

He swallows, tries to confirm it with words, but he can only respond with the smallest nod.

“Huh…” Gladio says, and leans forward to look down his back. With his shirt draped over the injury though, he isn’t sure what Gladio expects to see there. Maybe he’s looking for traces of blood, or—

The hand presses near his lower back again.

He gasps at the sudden contact and barely suppresses a horrible flinch, settling uncomfortably for shivering in its place.

“ _ Gladio _ ,” he says, in warning, and in fear. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to show fear in front of Gladio, much less right to his face, but he can’t fucking help it. Gladio’s going to push right down on where the pain is focused, and he’s pushing too hard,  _ it’s going to hurt so much. _

“Not gonna hurt ya,” Gladio says, like he’s certain of it, _but_ _how can he be so fucking sure?_ “Just try to keep your breathing even, alright?”

Maybe he tries, but mostly he holds his breath. When he remembers to release it, it leaves in a stilted stutter, and returns the same way.

Gladio’s hand keeps getting closer to the injury. Closer, and closer, and—there’s contact.

He inhales sharply, certain he’s about to scream, but it all stays stuck.

The pain doesn’t spike.

There’s warmth right over the point where all the pins are nestled, and a featherlight pressure against it, but, blessedly, the pain remains muted. There’s just the steady heat, and the aching muscles welcome it. It’s not enough to warrant a sigh of relief just yet, but maybe he blinks a tear loose from his eye.

“It’s right here, right?” Gladio asks, fanning his fingers out around the spot. It’s painless again, but fear flares with it anyway.

Stiffly, he gives one quick nod.

Gladio nods in return. “Got it.”

He leans to look over his back again, and makes another light, calculative motion with his fingers over the injury.

“Okay, Noct, you’re putting strain on it right now,” Gladio says when his hands stop moving, and the entirety of his palm holds heat onto the old wound. “I want you to lay down on your stomach.”

His head shakes before he even decides to do it consciously. It’s stiff and quick like his nodding, but the desperation of it has him moving too fast and it sends pinpricks of pain down his spine that drive another whimpering sound out of him. He doesn’t want to move onto his stomach. He doesn’t want to move at all.

“I know, I know…” Gladio says, voice unusually soft, and the hand that had been holding him at his waist moves to cradle his cheek and swipe a thumb over where tears had trailed. “It’s one of those fucked up things where it’s gotta hurt more before it’s gonna get better. But you gotta get the strain off it, so you gotta get to the ground. I’ll help you, okay?”

He doesn’t want to nod to that, but can’t bring himself to try shaking his head again either. It’s inevitable, of course; he has to do it. It’s not realistic to kneel here for the rest of the day, and he’s already so exhausted from the strain. But his instincts keep screaming at him not to move. Every phantom pin is just sitting there, waiting to hook into him at the slightest movement, and Gladio wants him to willfully agitate them. He  _ can’t  _ do that.

The hand over his injury moves to take a gently firmer grip around his waist, and Gladio’s other arm presses across his chest.

“Okay, gonna move you down,” he says, and the sound of his voice is still uncharacteristically quiet, but so close he can hear it just as clearly. “On three, I need you to stop holding this position. Just unlock your muscles like you’re trying to fall, and I’ll carry you down, alright?”

Gladio pauses, waiting for a response the pain won’t permit. And, in its absence, he rubs his thumb lightly above his hip before carefully shifting his grip.

“Alright, I’ve got ya, c’mon. One… two… three—”

Some kind of horrible noise rips through his throat, and it sounds too much like a dying animal. But he keeps his teeth clenched through the whole motion, and that at least stops it from escalating to a genuine scream. But it’s still bad. It’s  _ really fucking bad. _ He feels too heavy and fragile against Gladio’s arms, too aware of how the stabbing pulses that shoot through his body worsen with each increment he’s lowered, until finally— _ finally— _ he’s down at the ground where Gladio wants him.

He breathes shakily there, feeling tears drip down his face, and left too far exhausted to even think about being self-conscious over it. Residual pain keeps throbbing through him, but they stopped moving, and the pain stopped growing. It had finally subsided to where it had been before it became unbearable, and maybe, he thinks, it might have receded just an extra bit past that. So, of course Gladio was right. It was fucking awful the whole way down, but the position is already so much easier on him with the lack of strain.

“Okay, there you go,” Gladio says lowly, and scratches his fingers gently in his hair. “You’re alright, buddy. I’ve got ya…”

He closes his eyes to focus on that feeling.

It’s an instant distraction from the pain.

Gladio keeps doing it, making little circling motions against his scalp, and occasionally smoothing his hand from the back of his head down his neck. It’s just the one hand making simple motions along his skin, but it’s like he’s hyper-aware of it; like he’s feeling his senses from under a microscope.

Gladio’s hand is so warm...

His thumb swipes over his temple, and he’s vaguely aware that he starts to crane his neck to keep chasing the touch, something he should have  _ some _ remaining presence of mind on which to consider how that’s kind of uncalled for and embarrassing, and he should stop. But then Gladio’s hand touches down on his head again and the thought smothers under it. It still hurts to twist too much, but he finds wherever he leans, Gladio meets him there.

He shivers, and he’s not so sure it has anything to do with the pain.

It’s nice—strangely, hypnotically nice—and it has his breaths dropping nearly to an even rate before he feels Gladio’s hand makes contact with his lower back again. Too calm, too distracted, he forgets to stop himself from flinching, and the pinpricks flare his panic again. The result is not a scream-inducing pain, but the jolt still sets off his muscles, rustles the pins, and he hears himself make another utterly pathetic whimpering noise. It’s fucking horrible, and there’s no way Gladio shouldn’t roll his eyes or mock him for it.

“Sorry,” Gladio says instead, like he means it, and the already-careful touch becomes even lighter. In what must be Gladio’s way of apologizing, his other hand presses down on the back of his head, firmly smoothing down his hair. Nothing about it is painful, but somehow his breath still catches, making a stuttering sound as the rest of him sinks a little closer to the ground. And, he thinks, his face feels warmer.

Gladio focuses on pressing his palm flat against his back again, rubbing gently from side to side as the warmth of it soothes the injury. He sighs at the feeling and lets his eyelids fall half-shut, casting the room in a gauzy darkness that only seems to intensify the warmth spreading to his joints. There’s still a tightness in his limbs, but, he thinks, maybe, at this rate, maybe Gladio really could make it disappear entirely. At the very least, finally, it’s easier to breathe. 

He’s even nearly back to a normal rate of it—calm, deep shallow breaths—but the feel of fingers touching at the hem of his shirt cuts his flow of breath and has him narrowly suppressing tremors. He tries to say something in warning, but he practically splutters the response, managing only a few indistinct syllables before succumbing to breathlessness and exhaustion.

… Maybe he shouldn’t trust himself with words right now…

“Noct, I’m gonna try to help with the tension,” Gladio says. “I know a thing or two about muscle pain, and I can at least get some of the knots out of here.”

He nods slowly, but freezes with a quiet gasp at the heat of Gladio’s palm pressing directly to the skin of his back. There, it repeats the side-to-side motion that eased him before, and it’s again enough to help him acclimate. 

He eases into it, quietly relishes in its warmth, and gasps again at the feeling of Gladio’s other hand joining in the effort. There’s still a lack of pain, but, still, he can’t help the accompanying shivers.

Gladio’s hands spread wide on his back, pressing that consistent, comforting heat into him before moving to push cautious pressure against muscle, each movement  _ just  _ narrowly avoiding any pins under the surface.

The touch draws more than one whimper out of him—half pain, half relief—but he doesn’t let himself think about it. There’s still layers of pain in the core of his back, and he knows it’s not a problem that can be  _ solved _ exactly, but something about Gladio’s method in applying the pressure melts him, as if his hands are really somehow ironing away the places where the pain sits.

Gladio’s hands press flat to his skin and slide nearly all the way to his shoulders. It has him clenching his hands at nothing and burrowing his face a little against the floor. Right... he can think later about how gross the training room floor might be. And he doesn’t need to think at all about any of the soft whimpers he’s failing to hold back. It can all fucking wait. Because, right now, the only thing he should have to focus on is Gladio, and the way his palms are pushing his muscles down and into place.

It is, of course, the  _ only  _ thing he can focus on now, but if that’s how it’s gonna be, then at least he can allow himself to indulge. Just this one thing, just this one time.

To Gladio’s credit, he thinks it actually works, as if he’s somehow untying literal knots in his back. The tension loosens significantly, and, finally, the strain starts to give way to a boneless feeling through his whole body.

One of Gladio’s hands disappears from his skin, but the remaining one spreads wide and pushes a little harder on the center of his back. Mere minutes ago, he’s sure he would have screamed, but now he’s surprised at the lack of pain that comes with it. At most, it manages to pull a soft, contented breath from him, and a tired hum as it pushes slowly, but firmly up his back, like he’s trying to get rid of one last unruly fold in a tablecloth, and the heat of the remaining hand pulls away.

“Noct,” he hears Gladio say, like a gentle awakening, and it takes him a moment to go searching for his face.

It takes longer than it should. He’s so sluggish suddenly, just desperately hoping Gladio doesn’t call him out on it.

There isn’t ridicule in his eyes when he finds them though. Gladio just looks down at him with some kind of careful expression; half concern, half analytic.

Gladio moves a hand into his hair again, scratches his fingers gently there, and his eyes flutter shut at the contact.

_ What can he do so Gladio will keep petting him like this? _

“Better?” Gladio asks, but he definitely already knows.

“ _ Yeah _ ...” Noctis says anyway, and instantly he wishes he’d nodded instead. His voice came out too breathless, and Gladio certainly doesn’t need  _ more _ fuel with which to ridicule him with later.

But, perhaps in a merciful mood, Gladio doesn’t acknowledge it, and just gives another smattering of light scratches just behind his ear.

_ Oh… _

“Everything locked up, it looks like you’re always putting too little or too much strain on it, and that’s not good for damaged muscle” Gladio says, like the motions he’s making in his hair aren’t dissolving his prince. “Didn’t you do physical therapy after that? They should’ve taught you stretches for this.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, still too sluggish, but forcing himself to manage speaking. “Did it for a couple months. Got it under control. Didn’t start hurting like this til recently.”

“Huh,” Gladio makes a contemplative sound and rubs at his scalp again, as if just trying to idly occupy himself while he considers the situation. He closes his eyes, and narrowly suppresses some kind of sound that wants to crawl out of his throat.

_ Gods, he just wants to pull himself into Gladio’s lap and just curl up there, press into the warmth of his chest, let Gladio hold him there, let Gladio’s hands touch all over his back, his hair, his neck, his body, and— _

“It’s a life-long kind of thing, Noct,” Gladio says and pulls his shirt back down into place, smoothing his palm over it one more blessed time. “This kind of thing, you gotta keep an eye on it, Noct. It’s important to stretch it regularly or it’ll settle, and shit like this is gonna happen.”

He shifts, and, without the touch so thoroughly distracting him, the shame starts to keep in. “... Sorry…”

“Not blaming you,” Gladio says, patting his head with a surprising lack of revulsion in his tone. “I’m just surprised they didn’t fit you with a regular trainer for that. It’s one thing to get you back to good health and up and moving again, but maintaining it is just as important.”

“Hmn.” He makes a noncommittal sound, and Gladio’s hand disappears from his head. For a long moment, it’s quiet. His head clears in ridiculously small increments until, finally, the reality of where he is, and why, returns to him. Steadily, so slowly, he moves himself up into a sitting position. “Are we… should I get back into form for sparring, or…”

“ _ Nah _ ,” Gladio says with the same insistency he might say  _ hell fucking no.  _ “Your back’s really thrown out right now, so I’d like to see you get some rest for that. And, look, yeah, I know I can be a hardass, but I mean it. You can’t over-exert yourself with this kind of shit. Like, today? Don’t pull that shit. If you’ve got muscle pain or injuries, we gotta accommodate them. If you ignore them like that, it’s gonna fucking hurt, like you did just now, and I’m here to make sure you don’t get fucking hurt.” He inhales deeply, and crosses his arms. “No more strain today. Just wanna take you through some stretches, get in a couple good ones while the muscles are in a good mood, and show you what you can do on a regular basis to make sure it doesn’t hurt like that again. Sound good?”

He’s  _ still _ feeling weirdly slow and fuzzy, but he nods, and lets Gladio dictate the rest of their session without fuss.

The stretches are easy, and there’s only slight pain when he stretches too far. He winces when it happens, and Gladio just insists to only stretch to where it’s comfortable, and not to push too hard at his limits. It's still hard to define exactly where those limits are, but Gladio doesn't make him leave altogether, and he gets to keep trying.

He goes through the motions of it, Gladio tells him he does good on each of the stretches, and, when their session is over and they have to part ways, Gladio grips his shoulder and gives him a look he’s not sure he’s seen before. It has a familiar fondness to it, which makes the usual-something in his chest swell, but there’s also something so much softer to it, and it makes him warm all over.

When he gets to bed for the night, the injury is more quiet than it’s been in weeks, but the thing occupying his thoughts most is remembering the feeling of his shield’s heated hands pressing all over him. He remembers how warm he felt under those touches, how hot the palms of Gladio’s hands really were against his skin, but even the thought of it alone is making him feel warm all over again. It’s a tingling heat that spreads outward from his core to his head to his toes to deep in his gut. He remembers the low rumble of Gladio’s voice, the impossibly gentle reassurances he’d murmured with it, and the feeling of his rough fingers sliding on his skin and in his hair.

He twists in his bed and shivers. He’s thought about Gladio in a much-less-than-professional light many times before. Many… many times before. Certainly more than he can ever admit to his dutiful shield, and he’ll just have to take that to his deathbed. But this… it’s something different. He hadn’t even stopped yet to let his imagination run with any of the usual notions, like how he might’ve felt if Gladio had pushed him down into a kiss there. 

Well, of course  _ now  _ he’s thinking about it, and that thought puts a more familiar heat in his gut, but it’s not the same as the other feeling. He thinks about it, how Gladio’s hands swept along his body and touched him like he was something precious, and immediately it spreads a tingling heat through his whole body. His toes curl with the sensation as he shivers again, overwhelmed by something entirely unfamiliar. It’s almost pleasure, but, perhaps worryingly, he thinks it’s also  _ longing, need,  _ and  _ desperation. _

He shifts when the quivering stops and presses his fingers against the back of his neck. Gladio touched him here—scratched his nails there so gently—and he remembers how the feeling made him melt into the ground like he wasn’t in the middle of the training floor, and how the pain didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted Gladio to keep moving his hands like that. It was so simple, but… so stupidly specific. How could he ask for something like that again? What can he do to get Gladio to do that again? It felt  _ so good,  _ so what can he do? He can be good, if that’s what Gladio needs. He can be good, he can be  _ so good _ for him, he just, just wants him to, just please,  _ please— _

He trembles all over again, shifts to his other side, and this time he notices he’s hard as hell.

… Well fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!? Thank you. Ch2+3 are basically in editing right now, so stay tuned for when everything Gets Worse


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re-edited March 25, 2020 for better pacing!

“Your back hurting right now?”

Noctis freezes mid-stretch and looks up to where Gladio is sitting, legs and arms crossed. He doesn’t look  _ pissed off _ , per se, but he sure seems one set of angry eyebrows away from it.

He swallows and shifts his gaze down, paying close attention to where his legs lay stretched out in front of him. He goes back to trying to keep his hand wrapped around his shoe—more slowly this time. “Uh, I mean,  _ yeah _ , but what else is new.”

Gladio’s frown deepens, and he feels his lips fall into a frown of their own. Yikes. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so winded just then…

_ Damn it _ , all he’s doing is stretching. He should  _ at least _ be able to do this much. Can’t he just grit his teeth and ignore it?

Judging by Gladio’s expression, that doesn’t look like an option now.

“I told you to tell me if it acts up,” Gladio says, brow furrowed and mirthless. “I know I’m a no-pain-no-gain kind of guy, but in practice it’s kind of bullshit. You can do permanent damage if you work through muscle pain like that.”

He swallows again, and it feels dry. “I’m sorry.”

Gladio sighs roughly, and moves closer. “So why you ignoring it?”

He holds his breath. What can he say that won’t add to Gladio’s frustration?

“I don’t know…” he mumbles.

Gladio raises an eyebrow at him and his frown gets worse. His mouth starts to open too, but he rushes before he can hear the fallout of his poorly-chosen words.

“I-I mean,” he swallows, scrambling for thought, instantly tripping over everything he wants to say. Gladio at least sits back and waits for the words. “I… it’s… I…  _ I don’t know _ … the real world hurts more than this, right? If I don’t learn to get used to it—if I can’t put up with some  _ stupid _ back aches—how the hell is  _ anyone  _ going to take me seriously? I’m trying to be better.”

“...  _ Noct.” _ It’s something between an exasperated sigh and an irritated growl from Gladio as he grasps at his own hair in frustration. “I hope all the shit I said the other day didn’t just go straight through your head and right out again. It’s good you wanna keep working, you know that’s the kind of persistence I like to see, but you’re going about it all wrong. You  _ can’t _ just brute-force your way through pain like this. Even I had to keep limbs out of commission waiting for them to get their shit back together. It fucking sucks, yeah, but that’s the process. You can’t work against your own body, that’s how people wreck themselves. You have to work  _ with  _ it.”

He stops bothering with the stretch and starts to pull his limbs inward, slumping forward a little and twitching at the slight pulling ache it makes in his back. “But it’s not going to get better for me. I can’t just keep my back  _ out of commission _ for a week and be done with it like it was nothing. It’s been  _ years _ , and it still hurts me. The world isn’t going to slow down for me, so I  _ need _ to make myself keep up.”

Gladio shakes his head and slides a little closer. “Don’t think about it like that. It’s not about ignoring it to keep pace. You just have to learn to manage it more efficiently. It hurts like it does because you haven't been taking care of it. When you’re consistent about it, it gets easier.”

He pulls his knees to his chest. “It’s a waste of time.”

“Nuh uh. Only seems that way because you lose a bit of time in the moment. But, if you ignore it, you’ll lose a hell of a lot more time later, because you’ll bring in new problems that could’ve been avoided, and then you’ll lose time to aching and moping.  _ That’s _ the waste of time.”

He lowers his head. Guess there’s no arguing with that. Gladio’s right; this is just something he has to learn to deal with. But…

“... If  _ feels _ like a waste of time…”

Gladio doesn’t say anything. He’s so sure he’s staring at him, and probably with a gaze that would make him want to disintegrate on the spot, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t dare.

When Gladio finally speaks, it’s lower than before. “Noct… when you hit the floor and made that noise like it was one of the worst things you ever felt… you remember that, right?”

He shifts. Of  _ course _ he does, he just wishes Gladio didn’t.

“Well,” he continues without waiting for a response, and there’s the rustling of him moving closer beside him. “As your shield, that’s one of the worst sounds I can ever hear. Tells me I’m failing. Noct, I  _ never  _ want you in that much pain. Especially not dealing with it alone. If it’s hurting you, I want you to feel safe enough that you can come to me about it. If you won’t take care of it for yourself, then will you let me help you? For me?”

He jolts at the feeling of Gladio’s hand wrapping over his shoulder with affirming heat, and blinks up at him. The expression he’s met with is one that’s equally warm, leaving him struggling for words until he decides staring at his hands would be the more productive thing to do.

“Wow, Gladio,” he laughs breathlessly. “I think that’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Yeah? Does that mean you’re more or less likely to take it seriously?”

“I don’t know,” he still laughs, but it shakes a little more this time. He wraps his arms around himself, so maybe he can literally hold himself together. “It means you’re a big sap.”

“Damn right I am.”

He lets his legs fall back down into a criss-cross and sways forward, wincing again at how the motion pulls at his back and sets off little pinpricks of pain.

He exhales shakily. “... Gladio?”

“Yeah, Noct?”

“... My back hurts…”

“Yeah?” Gladio’s voice sounds softer around its edges, the heat of his hand disappears from his shoulder, and he shifts onto his knees. “Think you’re up for getting some help with that?”

“... Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve got just the thing,” his tone gets lighter with every word, and, somehow, something as simple as that starts to lift the heavy ache that had been stagnating in his chest. “Come on then. Get on the ground.”

His head snaps up and now he can actually see Gladio grinning instead of just hearing the implication of it in his voice. “Uh, what?”

“Down on the ground,” Gladio says, raising his hands and leaning forward as if to lunge at the floor. “Gonna help it relax again. It’ll take longer and hurt more if I just have you go through the stretches by yourself. If we relax the muscles first, then we can get some stretches in.”

“Uh… you sure?” he doesn’t know  _ what _ he should say. Something in his chest just screams  _ yes! _ But something else sends fresh waves of tension through his body telling him he shouldn’t dare move.

“Noct, if you keep thinking I say shit without meaning it, I’m gonna get insulted.”

“... Sorry…”

Gladio leans forward, like it doesn’t matter. “So? You gonna let me help?”

He’s slow to process it, and slow to respond, but he forces himself through a nod, moves onto his knees, and lowers himself slowly to the ground.

“Good,” Gladio nods at him, and moves almost entirely out of view to tend to his back. “Just relax, princess. I’m totally an expert.”

He can tell Gladio’s going for lighthearted banter, but, when he nods, the motion is too stiff for comfort.

It’s at least not enough to deter Gladio from proceeding. He shivers at the unexpected chill of the air hitting his back—so Gladio’s already pushed his shirt up—but then the heat of his hand is back on his skin, and it’s all he can focus on.

It felt nice before, sure,  _ of course _ , but he had no idea just how much the intense pain of that moment was distracting from the sensation of it. Not until now.

The whole area is still sore and tender to the touch, but, without having to be so focused on suppressing the need to scream or cry, he can properly  _ feel  _ the effect of Gladio’s hand on his skin.

_ It’s so warm... _

Immediately, it sends ease rippling through him, just through the comfort of its presence, but then Gladio slides it carefully up his back, scattering subtle tingles of pleasure all over his skin. It makes his body try to slump and tense at the same time, and he can’t manage to do both. Instead, the warring sensations compromise in shivers.

Gladio seems to interpret those as reactions to pain, because, each time he trembles a little too noticeably, he stops to rub carefully at his hair and neck, which sure does make his eyes flutter, but then he has to suppress the resulting impulse to shudder under that touch, and that’s its own kind of pain. 

So far though, the trade-off has been well worth it. Because he just gets to lay there, and Gladio’s touches melt away all the lingering pain that had been haunting him since the morning. It’s…  _ really nice. _

Gladio spreads both of his hands flat across his back, curls them just over his ribs, and it makes his breath stutter. He presses just a little harder down under his shoulders, pushing him flatter to the ground, and that brings out some kind of low, quiet gasp.

He swears it didn’t happen this fast last time, but already he’s feeling like his bones are just  _ gone _ , and the pain is so blurry through the haze of comfort. Gladio’s fingers fan out over the expanse of his back, and he closes his eyes to it, narrowing his focus to how each digit tends to him.

The hands slide outward, alternating the pressure between the fingers in unpredictable intervals, and each shift manages to pull a soft sigh from his lips. 

He tries to keep it at that; silent sighs. Save for his hands helplessly grasping at air, it’s all he has to expel the tension. Gladio doesn’t  _ seem _ to notice, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep himself quiet before he starts cooing like a gods-damned pigeon.

Gladio pushes both hands into the blades of his shoulders, drags slowly down, inward, and then back out at his waist again, and it feels so  _ good. _ It draws a little contented hum out of him before Gladio grips around the back of his neck and kneads the heel of his hand their, and— _ oh, gods— _ he makes a hiccupping gasp and feels a shiver sweep from under Gladio’s hand, all the way to his toes.  _ Gods _ , that probably shouldn’t have felt  _ that _ good.  _ All _ of this shouldn’t be making him feel so… gooey. Gladio’s just doing this to help him calm down and not be in pain. He shouldn’t be… he shouldn’t… he shouldn’t be fucking  _ weird _ about it, and he’s definitely going to make it weird if he starts reacting too much. If he’s going to feel like this, the least he can do is keep it under control.

But he can feel how heavy the lids are getting over his eyes, just barely holding open, and how slack his mouth has gone with the lack of tension. Really, could Gladio even  _ not _ be noticing? There isn’t a part of him left unaffected at this point. Hell, he has to look embarrassing. His skin feels flushed, he can barely see with how unfocused his vision is, and his breathing is so slow, audibly shaking. 

It absolutely isn’t normal.

Already, he loses control of a sigh, which cracks into a quiet little whimper, and he feels barely cognizant enough to be thankful for Gladio’s lack of ridicule on the matter. He just scratches his fingers in his hair again before smoothing his hands down his entire back in solace.

He inhales, and shudders through it.

“Yeah, you neglect it too much,” Gladio says, lowly, a deep murmur that vibrates under his skin. “This’ll help though. Good to do some thorough maintenance on it sometimes.”

His thumbs push along his spine, then out under his shoulders, and he shivers again, voice catching in his throat with vague, unformed syllables.

If Gladio’s voice hadn’t been so close and heavy in his ears, he might not have heard any of that. It’s getting difficult to focus on any of his senses at all, as if all that necessary processing power is being channeled into the function of only one; he can  _ feel _ , and he feels  _ everything  _ Gladio is doing to his skin. Like right now, Gladio’s hands are back to pressing in the middle of his back, which is theoretically  _ so simple _ , but he feels all the tiny, imperceptible shifts of his fingers, and the way they idle against him in thought about where to proceed. Even something so small feels so encompassing, and it sends another wave of shivers through him.

Gladio’s hands knead over his neck again before rubbing some careful circles down against his pulse, and he thinks his eyes actually rolled back into his head with it. Everything went dark and blurry anyway, and now his eyes are closed. He breathes, because he thinks he actually stopped for a second there, and the air is so slow to come back to him.

Gladio doesn’t wait for him to catch his breath though. Rough fingernails scratch lightly down his neck, and send some kind of noise up his throat that he just narrowly kills before it could fall out his mouth. Still, it was something that had been distinctly audible; something quiet, and all-too helpless.

“Yeah, feels nice, doesn’t it,” Gladio says, somehow lower, and he repeats the motion.

The nails graze down his neck, and that noise tries to claw out of him again. It makes it just a little farther this time.

“Anytime, Noct,” Gladio says, voice closer like he must be leaning near his ear. “Whenever you need it, I’ve got your back.”

He should roll his eyes or smack his shield for the lame wordplay, but, instead, Gladio’s hands slide all the way down his back, squeeze at his hips, and he gasps, words turning to a stuttering string of constants that die in a whimpering hum.

His skin heats up another horrible degree.

He’s too far-gone. If Gladio asks him anything that requires an actual response, there’s no way he’ll be able to do it. Not like this. It’s difficult enough just trying to keep his sighs under control. If he so much as  _ considers _ using his voice, horrible sounds are going to start pouring out of him and he knows it. So he  _ can’t _ .

He blinks slowly, shivering still under the warmth of Gladio’s touch, and then he feels those hands press lightly over where he definitely remembers the scar tissue sits. That alone would have the edges of his vision darkening, but then the heels of his palms dig carefully into the dip of his back and push outward.

Something shifts.

There isn’t much of a sound. Maybe a muffled one, but he  _ feels _ something pop or snap into place, and he gasps, fists clenching around air.

He tenses all at once, knees and elbows tightening with strain, and his mouth falls open automatically the same way his eyes fall all the way shut. In increments, the tension recedes like an ebbing tide, and he melts down into the floor, writhing through the excess tremors, and exhaling the air of his gasp in long, shaking breaths, that carry his helpless voice out and away from him.

It’s definitely a moan. It’s totally, undeniably an actual fucking moan. It’s strangled, and  _ pathetic, _ but it can’t be mistaken for anything else. For just a moment, one  _ blissful moment _ , he doesn’t think about it; just feels the way the tension washes away from him, just barely hearing the wrecked, quiet sounds pouring out of him as he trembles helplessly at the sensation of it before going entirely slack and sinking there, breathing deeply against the floor.

But then he  _ does _ think about it, and he realizes what he just did all at once.

Gladio’s movements had frozen the instant it started, and now he’s tensed to the same stock-stillness.

He can’t even dare breathe.

Gladio still doesn’t move.

“...Woah…  _ fuck _ , Noct, holy shit.”

He pushes off the ground in an instant, adrenaline surging from nowhere as he throws himself aside, jumps to his feet, and sprints before Gladio can register what the fuck he’s doing

“Hey!” He hears, but he’s halfway across the room, and he doesn’t give himself the chance for hesitation. His heart is beating too loudly in his ears to tell if Gladio is yelling anything else, or if he’s in pursuit, or if he’s actually catching up to him, but he makes it to the doors, thrusts them open, and nothing stops him.

He keeps running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always worry about writing characters too OOC or needing to tag for something like that, but I hope this is going okay!
> 
> If you can, let me know if you liked it! I'm still so curious if a fic like this will resonate with people hahahaha
> 
> Otherwise, tune in next time for when everything gets Worse!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the huge delay! Thought I was basically done with ch3 when I posted the first two chapters but apparently not! Wanted to redo those, redo this chapter, figure out a better name for this fic, and then my emotional well-being went and did a swan dive into garbage so,,,, sorry this took a bit too long :(
> 
> Also actually I'm still not sure i like the title on this!! im so stressed! so if anyone has any suggestions for a better one, or reassurances on the current I'd appreciate suggestions/affirmation, thanks 😭
> 
> ALSO, did thorough edits on the first two chapters so you might want to reread if you're revisiting this, but either way I hope you enjoy the fic!

He’s trying not to cry.

He’s trying really hard not to cry.

 _Why did he have to go and do that?_ Gladio was just doing his job, just being _fucking nice,_ and he had to go and be fucking weird about it. Would Gladio even want to talk to him anymore? Would he just always remember this and never let him live it down? He doesn’t want to think about Gladio laughing at him, or being mad at him, or hating him.

 _Gods,_ why was he like this.

There’s a knock at the door.

He freezes.

He could just… leave it… after all, it’s almost ten o’clock. He could be sleeping.

His phone buzzes, and he dares to check it.

Gladio [9:47PM]: You’re definitely not sleeping Noct, let me in, I gotta give you something.

He breathes shakily. That _something_ is so vague, it could be anything. Like, what, a hard time? He doesn’t need that, doesn’t want to look Gladio in the face right now.

Gladio [9:50PM]: knock knock noct

He covers his face. Augh, what is Gladio _doing?_

He opens the door slightly and keeps his head low. He doesn’t have his light on, so maybe it’s dark enough that Gladio won’t be able to see if his eyes are red-rimmed.

Gladio quirks an eyebrow and holds up a black bag—his gym bag.

“You left this in the locker room,” he says, like that’s the only thing out of place about today.

“... Sorry,” he says, taking the bag from Gladio, who blessedly doesn’t make a fuss over it, or hold it away from him in ridicule. He lets him take it.

“No biggie,” Gladio shrugs. “Makes sense you’d miss it if you were occupied with something like running out of the place like I threw you in fucking ice water.”

His head drops a little lower. Oh… what can he even say. “... Sorry…”

“Hey,” Gladio says, and it’s the kind of tone that says he wants him to look at him, but he only manages to lift his head a small degree. “I wanna talk. Can I come in?”

He swallows. Why would Gladio want to talk to him? There’s nothing antagonizing about his demeanor, so it doesn’t look like he wants to call him out on being fucking weird. But then what else is there Gladio could even want to say? Could it be—does he look so serious because he was so bothered that he doesn’t want to be around him so much anymore?

He swallows, and hopes the shaking in his arms isn’t as noticeable as it feels.

“Really, Noct, I mean it,” Gladio says, leaning down just a little and trying to put himself in his line of sight. “I want to know if you’re okay.”

He blinks.

“Me?”

Gladio blinks. “I mean, yeah? I got a bit handsy, and didn’t mean to… I dunno, overstep. You know I never want to hurt you, right?”

He blinks again. “Wh— _me?_ You didn’t—I mean, you didn’t do anything you weren’t supposed to. I was the one who acted fucking weird.”

He sees Gladio’s head tilt in what looks like confusion. “It wasn’t weird. It was, uh, _something_ , but I’m not, uh, weirded out or anything. More worried, honestly.”

He inhales, holds his breath, and opens the door all the way. The least they can do is have this conversation behind a closed door, he supposes.

Gladio walks in, he closes the door, sets the bag down by his bed, and stands there waiting for whatever Gladio’s here to do.

“Noct,” Gladio says, closer suddenly, and he looks up at him. He puts his hands on his shoulders and holds his gaze. “I’m your shield. I want— _need—_ to have your trust. I’m here to protect you. But I can’t protect you if the thing troubling you is _me_. We need to communicate.”

He feels his eyes widen, and can’t look at Gladio anymore. He turns his head down and focuses on holding back tears instead. “You didn’t do anything.”

“But you sure as hell ran like I did.”

He shakes his head, ducks a little lower, and feels Gladio’s hands tighten their grip and hold him steady there until he can speak.

“... Gladio, I’m a freak.”

His grip gets tighter as his eyebrows shoot upward. “... _What?”_

Don’t cry don’t cry _don’t cry don’t cry._

“ _Noctis,”_ Gladio says with urgency as he lowers himself a little closer to his eye-level. “You’re not a _freak_. The hell do you think that for? You know people can like whatever kind of people they like, right? That’s just normal feelings.”

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. _Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry —_ “N-no, that—that’s not a problem. It’s the… _it’s not normal to act like that_. You were just being nice, and I went and _ruined it_. Like, fuck, Gladio, you just touched my back and pet me, and I-I-I-I wanted to fucking crawl into your lap so you would do it more. Like, your dick was maybe the eighth thing I was even thinking about, I was so damn focused on you just touching me like that. Who the fuck gets off on being pet like a fucking cat? Gladio, what the _fuck_ is wrong with me?—”

He inhales sharply and shuts his mouth, because, damn it, he’s crying. His breath keeps hitching and the tears keep falling, but, maybe—if he can keep his mouth closed—maybe he won’t start utterly sobbing.

“ _Noctis…”_ Gladio’s voice sounds exasperated, but there’s an overtone of sadness to it that feeds into his own tears, and his breath hitches again. He can’t see, but he feels the arms anchoring his shoulders pull him forward until he’s pressed and held against the warmth of Gladio’s chest. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you. It’s _fine._ We could say ‘unconventional’ if you wanna put a word to it, but it’s _fine_ , Noct.”

“ _No, no, it isn’t,_ ” he sobs and shakes his head against Gladio’s shirt. “It was uncalled for, and weird, and disgusting, and-and-and now you won’t want to be around me anymore because I went and made things stupidly fucking awkward, and I won’t get to see you anymore and, _fuck,_ what’s _wrong_ with me!?”

“ _Noctis_ ,” Gladio says again, firmly with concern. “I don’t think you’re fucking gross or any shit like that. You’re just Noctis. And you can bet it doesn’t change a thing. Of course I still want to be around you. It’s not your fault if your skin’s a little sensitive. I’m not going to abandon you, Noct.”

“Because it’s your job and you _have_ to—”

“No.” Gladio says firmly and he shrinks a little at the force of it.

Gladio inhales deeply, the motion of it crushing him a little between his chest and arms, and then he sinks back down.

“Noct. I care about you a whole damn lot. I’m your shield, and that means I’m supposed to protect you, but you’re also my _friend_ , which means I _want_ to protect you. I _like_ being around you and talking about stupid shit, and being fucking sensitive isn’t going to make me want to stop caring about you and being at your side. I’ll get on your case about slacking off and ditching shit, because _someone’s_ gotta keep your work in check, but not this. Never this.”

“... _Why?_ ” his voice cracks as he fights back too many more tears.

“ _Astrals,_ _do I really gotta say_ —Noct, I—” He inhales again, exhales roughly, and his grip gets a little harder. “Noct, I love you. And, I mean that. A lot. You’re my favorite person to be around, you know that? And—and being fucking sensitive isn’t going to make me want to stop caring about you or being at your side. Okay? Nothing’s changed. _Fuck,_ don’t _cry._ ”

He shakes in his grasp, trying to absorb those words, and, blessedly, Gladio gives him silence to process it.

“...You… you love me?” he says it so quietly, and half of the sound probably disappears into Gladio’s chest, but he seems to respond to it anyway.

“Yeah… I do,” Gladio says in a similarly quiet tone, and rubs his thumb on his shoulder. “The thing in training doesn’t change my feelings. Hell, if you want my stupid honest opinion, uh, it was kinda hot.”

“Wh… _what?”_

Now he’s watching Gladio, and one of his hands disconnects from his shoulder and hovers awkwardly, halfway through recoiling. “I mean, fuck, uh—see? Now look who’s being fucking weird.” Gladio laughs— _laughs nervously?_ —and then drags that hand down his face in mortification. “I mean, fuck, uh… you talk. I’m gonna make an ass of myself if I say a damn thing.”

He swallows, looks down, and tries looking up to stare Gladio in the eyes, but he only makes it part of the way before freezing up. He fidgets. “You… you liked it?”

Gladio exhales heavily, and it shakes a little. “Yeah... _yeah_ , alright? ‘Course I liked it. Had to take a damn cold shower after that.”

“Oh…” he basically mumbles, and shrinks into himself just a little bit more. This… he wasn’t expecting this _at all_. But… it’s supposed to be a good thing, right? If Gladio’s not uncomfortable around him, that’s _good_ … right? And-and if he says he _loves_ him… that’s good too, _right?_

He should be wanting to cheer with the force of his whole being, or get _some_ kind of relief out of it for all the dread that’s been stuck in him, but mostly he still feels tense and overcome with nerves.

Gladio doesn’t let go of him at least, so that’s nice.

He hesitates, then carefully presses his cheek up against Gladio’s chest, closing his eyes and craning his neck to brush his face slowly against the fabric and warmth there.

Gladio tenses for maybe one entire second before the grip around him strengthens and a hand slips into his hair to grip at the back of his head.

“Yeah,” Gladio says, and he can feel his nose touch to his hairline. “You’re perfect like this.”

He tries to nuzzle in a little further, relishing in the foreign chance to be so close to him, but then he feels what is distinctly Gladio’s lips touch down against that same place in his hair, and he shivers.

… Gladio just kissed him…

Like, okay, sure, it wasn’t even on the lips, and it was the most chaste thing he ever could have asked for, but _still._ It was an actual, careful, genuine kiss Gladio pressed to him.

He feels his face heat up and can’t bring himself to care if Gladio notices.

Gladio kisses along his hairline a bit more, trailing to the side, to the top of his head, and then presses his face right against his ear.

“Hey. How’s about I finish that work on your back? Promise you’ll feel great.”

He shivers at the way Gladio’s voice tunnels in his ears, practically licking at his spine.

“ _... You sure?”_ He can barely say.

Gladio presses another kiss to his forehead. “Definitely. C’mon. Lay down.”

He’s reluctant to separate from him—doesn’t want this gentle contact to stop—but there’s something so honest and fond about his expression that he flushes and keeps that gaze in his mind’s eye as he presses his knees to his bed.

It’s not as bad as it had been that morning, but there’s still a distinct ache in his lower back that stirs uncomfortably as he settles himself against the mattress. Arms to his side, cheek flat to sheets, he waits for Gladio to make his next move.

He already can’t see him, and realizes with a dip of the bed that he’s already crawled onto the other side, knees sunken in just beside him.

Like before, the heat of Gladio’s palm rests over his injury and has him inhaling a sharp breath, but there aren’t any other immediate movements. In the meantime, Gladio just holds it there.

“I want you to tell me if anything bothers you, got it?” His voice speaks lowly, so near to his ear it sends a small gasp and shiver shooting through him. He nods quickly, and gets a light touch into his hair in return. “Good. Now, relax, princess.”

Gladio’s hands push his shirt up his body and spread wide over his back before he can begin to register the discomfort of the chilled air. He’s far too warm for that to matter at this point. No, what matters now is the careful touch of Gladio’s hands sliding up and down his back with a soothing pressure. He only flinches a few times, but, with each time, Gladio’s thumb would rub a soothing circle over the aching spot until his charge would sigh and relax again.

With even less pain to overcome this time, he already thinks most of the ache is gone. Instead, his senses get to narrow down on the slow, careful motions against his skin, and the rumbling words that meet his ears.

“Yeah, better when it’s not so tense, huh.” Gladio says, moving a hand to rub at the back of Noctis’s neck, and he’s willing to bed that Gladio’s paying too close attention this time to miss the way he twists and gasps at that contact.

“Oh, hmm, you like that?” It’s like there’s a smile in Gladio’s voice, and he feels him knead his neck again before pressing fingers up into his scalp.

“ _... Ah… y-yeah…_ ” he murmurs, hopeless to do anything else.

“Hmm… good,” Gladio’s voice is a low rumble, and his palms push carefully down against the middle of his back.

He gasps, and Gladio keeps at his work, sweeping over his skin like he knows exactly what to do to undo any remaining threads of tension. Maybe he really does. He can’t just be naturally gifted like this.

One such thread falls away at the base of his spine as Gladio’s thumbs push a circle over it, and he whimpers at the feeling. It’s _so nice_ , even nearly painless now, so why does he feel like he’s going to cry?

“You okay, Noct?” Gladio asks, and he thinks he feels the heat of Gladio’s body spreading over his back before another burning heat, soft and damp, presses to the back of his neck.

He shivers under the weight and touch, breath shuddering with meaningless, wavering syllables as he squirms through the overwhelming sensation.

“Can you use your words, buddy?” The bridge of his nose meets the side of his neck before another kiss is pressed there, and then another beside it.

 _“N-n-n-nhh-mnnh,”_ He wines, swallows, and tries again. _“Gl’dio…”_

“Yeah, Noct?” he murmurs against his ear.

His whole body twitches at the way the sound rolls through him, and he whimpers again.

Maybe Gladio’s starting to notice the effect speaking into his ear like that is having too, because, instead of asking again, he just pauses to rest the side of his face over his neck, permitting him the time to form words.

Even with the room to breathe, that’s going to be difficult.

He inhales a long breath, surely enough to sustain some actual speech, and tries again. “... _it’s… nice…”_

“Yeah?” he can feel Gladio’s teeth against his skin as he bares them in a wicked grin before his vision blurs at the feeling of Gladio pressing another kiss at the top of his head, and pushing his hand down against his neck. 

The pressure has him shuddering with gasp, and Gladio presses his nose into his hair.

“You like being kissed, Noct?” he says, adding a kiss there for emphasis.

He gasps again, and tries his best to communicate the desire. “ _Mhmm…_ ”

It comes out like a whine, more broken and desperate than he means for it to, but it’s enough to get Gladio to hum softly and kiss over his ear. “Yeah? Yeah... that’s nice, isn’t it...”

He kisses down his neck, between his shoulders, and down to the middle of his back as he shudders through it all, and— _gods_ — _he can barely breathe like this_...

“And how’s your back?” Gladio asks, as if _now_ is a good time for casual conversation, and pushing the heels of his hands into him as if that won’t make responding to that question with any coherency impossible. “Most of the pain gone now?”

Thankful it’s at least simple enough to answer, he nods a little. Gladio had kneaded away the last of the pain a few passes ago. Now he just feels fuzzy and disoriented.

Gladio’s fingers spread wide, and smooth nicely down his back again. “You feeling good?”

Shakily, he manages another small nod.

“Hmm…” Gladio makes a contented sound, and rubs gently at his back a little longer.

It’s _so... nice…_

Gladio takes his time with it, sometimes doing little motions to deliberately make his breath stutter, like squeezing his neck, rubbing over his hips, or surprising him with quick kisses he’d shiver through. But, mostly, it’s quiet, and he lets his eyelids fall steadily to the soothing sensations being laid over him in hazy layers.

So deep in it, he almost doesn’t notice his shirt being pulled back down and smoothed into place, but the bed shifting under him starts to rattle awareness back into him, and he turns his head over in search of the other.

He finds him right there; perched up on his knees, smiling down at him so fondly. Wearily, he smiles back, and then watches Gladio’s hand raise up and out toward his face. His fingers touch down into his hair to scratch lightly at his scalp before pressing a thumb down under his eye, swiping steadily across where he’s suddenly aware tears had passed.

For the sake of his dignity, he really hopes he hadn’t been crying the whole time...

“You awake?” Gladio asks quietly, petting his hair again.

That has him shaking a little, but he manages a nod for him.

Gladio’s gentle smile broadens into something almost predatory. 

“Good. C’mere,” he says, and suddenly big warm hands are pulling at his waist. Dizzily, he follows the pull of the suggestion, and gasps when he’s pressed flush to Gladio’s chest.

“ _Gladio?”_ He manages, but it’s almost a whimper. Gladio said he was okay with all this—they _just_ had that conversation, afterall— but _fuck_ he’s going to ruin everything if Gladio tries to indulge him like this.

“You mentioned something about, hm, crawling into my lap, I believe was how you put it,” Gladio says, sitting back further on his knees. “Wanna let you do that. And make you feel good.” He punctuates the sentiment by sliding a hand up his shirt and down his back, relishing in the shiver he gets in return. “Gonna see what I can do.”

“... _You sure?”_ he can barely hear his own voice.

“Yeah.” Gladio responds anyway, and pulls him closer. “Wanna hear you.”

“O— _oh_ …” he tries to speak, but Gladio scratches his nails lightly at the back of his neck and that already has him slumping back into hazy delirium. “ _Okay…”_

So Gladio holds him there, stroking a hand through his hair in repeating motions; sliding down, and moving back up just to make the same trip back toward his spine. It’s simple, but he melts with it, pressed up to the heat and solidity of Gladio’s chest with his hands sweeping all across his skin.

When he was laying down, he didn’t need to think too much about how boneless he was getting under Gladio’s touches. With his weight perfectly distributed on a flat surface, he could just focus on the sensory inputs flooding his back. Sitting upright though is surprisingly different. He’s gone limp again, and he’s more aware of it like this; where falling over is an actual possibility and he can’t move a single muscle to address it.

He can nod or squirm a little as needed, but there’s no way he wouldn’t slide off Gladio and fall right down onto the bed or all the way to the floor without his arms anchoring him in place. But there they are, holding him firmly and reverently where Gladio can continue to tend to him with caressing touches.

Gladio’s fingers curl in his hair and he gently tugs back against it. His whole body jolts with the suddenness and he can’t suppress the resulting gasp and shuddering before his head lolls against Gladio’s neck where he just lays, trying to breathe again.

“Hmm, see, yeah… that was nice,” Gladio mumbles, pressing a soft kiss in his hair as he gives another, firmer pull.

Noctis feels his eyes flutter all the way shut, his mouth drops open, and his chest swells with the air he breathes in, but he can’t manage a sound. He shivers, and it’s all he can do as he falls back forward, shivering and sinking closer.

Gladio gives another small kiss and goes back to petting his hair, letting the other hand rub circles at his lower back. “Yeah… good.”

Little patterns like that repeat along his back, waist, and spine, in a strange mixture that blends all the sensations together, and yet each touch still manages to be distinct, like his skin is becoming hyper-aware of every touch, and all of it is Gladio; all heat and light scraping. He wants to curl right into it, purr like a damn cat when his fingers slide through his hair, but he can barely even maintain his breathing. His body trembles of its own accord, and there’s nothing else he can do. With half-lidded eyes so far beyond the ability to stretch all the way open, he can only lay there, shivering, breathing onto Gladio’s skin, whimpering when the touch overwhelms him.

“You really weren’t kidding,” Gladio says lowly, accentuating his words with a long, firm pass of his hand down his back, and he wants so much to arch back in its path, but his muscles don’t permit it. Instead, his whole body shivers with it, shaking forth a quiet moan he breathes against Gladio’s neck as he tries to nestle closer.

Gladio’s body shakes against him.

“ _Fuck_ , Noct,” he murmurs, leaning to kiss near his ear. “Love it when ya do that. C’mon, give me another.”

Gladio does it again, pushing the full width of his hand down his back in a firm, labored motion that has him keening through it, right under Gladio’s ear, trying so desperately to curl in closer.

“ _Good_ boy, just like that,” he drawls, scratching generously at his scalp again.

He gasps at the disorientating buzz that shoots through him; a fuzziness that seems to settle all the way into his bones and leaves his thoughts and vision blurry. Oh _gods_ , why did that feel so good?

The scratching turns to thoughtful caresses as Gladio makes a low noise that rumbles through his chest. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? Yeah, felt it go all the way through you.” He pushes a hand down his spine for emphasis and gets a fit of trembling in response. “C’mon, let me do it again.” He noses into his hair and threads his fingers into it again. “You gotta work for it.”

He pulls at it again, and instantly he’s whimpering. Shuddering, blushing, and gone. The sound he makes is pitched too high, and honestly too quiet, but the resulting tremor he feels from Gladio speaks to its effect.

“ _Good boy,_ ” he practically growls into the shell of his ear, and the sound of it alone nearly has his eyes rolling back. “That’s fucking perfect, Noct. _Fucking perfect.”_

He gives him a few more long, lingering caresses that have him struggling against both the heaviness of his body and the overwhelming sensations shooting through him, shuddering through all of it until Gladio settles on rubbing a large, calming circle around his back that sends him slack again.

 _Astrals above_ he better not start fucking drooling on his shield.

" _G-G-Gladio…_ " he whines and twists against him " _Gladio—oh…"_ Gladio just tugs lightly at a fistful of hair, makes a low consoling sound as he presses another kiss to the top of his head, and he isn't sure he can take much more of this. " _G-Gladio_ , I'm—if-if you don't stop I… I think I'm gonna—"

Gladio spreads his fingers along his waist and spares a kiss on his shoulder that pulls a whine from his throat, and he melts instead of trying to figure out any more words to beg with.

"... Just like this?" 

Faintly, he nods.

“Hmm…” he hums thoughtfully as he smooths his hand down his spine so nicely and nuzzles to his ear again. “You feel close?”

He chokes on an inhale and manages another jittery nod.

“Yeah? Yeah… you’re doing so good, aren’t you. Yeah, you’re being _so_ _good_ for me...”

Gladio’s hand wraps around the back of his neck, and squeezes against his pulse.

He inhales a shuddering gasp, and his vision goes almost entirely dark.

“ _Gladio,”_ he whimpers automatically, shivering like he can’t take it anymore, pressing his face into Gladio’s neck as far as he can get. “Gladio, _please._ Please, Gladio, _please—please please please…”_

Gladio shakes noticeably against him and growls low, gripping him harder.

“ _Fuck…_ Yeah? What do you want, princess?”

“I… I… I…” he inhales deeply between each attempt, hoping he can string at least one coherent sentence together, but _gods, he can’t focus._ “ _I don’t know… I d-don’t—I d-d-don’t... don’t know… please, p-p-please, keep… keep on… ahh—please please please…”_

“ _Shh, shh,_ I’ve got ya,” Gladio says, smoothing a hand carefully all the way through his hair and pressing another kiss over his ear. “I’ll get you there. I’ll get you all the way there, c’mon.”

He just sobs another moan against Gladio’s skin, all desperation and overwhelming need. The sounds that fall out of him are shivering and powerless, dissolving to silent, breathy cries that still somehow manage to pull noticeable tremors through his Shield.

 _It’s so warm…_ Gladio’s hands are warm—Gladio’s _body_ is warm—and that warmth is all over his own skin now, sunken into him and utterly dissolving him. Every touch makes him feel so dizzy and faint, and he’s sure he _must_ be crying again. That would at least make sense of Gladio’s near-constant hushing between little scratches and kisses. He tries desperately to breathe in, but it never feels like enough. Each breath hitches out of his control, and he can’t get enough air, can’t _breathe_ , and it just makes him dizzier and more overwhelmed, and—

And, finally, it’s too much.

Following another deep caress through his hair, he finally gasps a long, sharp breath in and feels the way his whole body tenses against Gladio’s; rigid and twitching with the force of a pleasure he never expected to be so blinding. The cry that escapes him is nearly silent, cracking into only a few helpless whimpers as tears drip out of his eyes until, at last, steadily, he trembles his way back down to laying limply against his shield, just trying to breathe again.

The shaking doesn’t stop right away, and he cries through it, trying so desperately to keep himself together. He can’t do much for that, but Gladio’s arms are still secured around him, and that’s enough to keep him whole.

“... _Woah,”_ Gladio finally breathes, pausing to press a few kisses to his head, and his skin is all-too sensitive to it. “ _Fuck_ , Noct. You really got off, huh?”

He feels the undeniable redness all over his face get worse. _Gods_ , he did, didn’t he. Gladio kinda… _implied_ it was fine, but was it really? “... F-f-fck… s… s-srr...ry…”

Gladio firmly grasps the left side of his head and pushes a kiss to the right. “Not judging ya, Noct. Nothin’ to be sorry for. Had no idea just a little touching would wreck you like that though. _Fuck, Noct,_ you sound _amazing._ You’re incredible.”

It’s enough to drive away the complete desire to hide himself away, but, he realizes all at once, he’s still suspended in that state where he can’t move at all; like his entire being is lagging too far behind him, too occupied drifting in the fuzzy buzz of this aftermath.

“You okay, Noct?” he hears Gladio’s voice. He moves his head a little against his shoulder, and while _he_ thinks that totally counts as a nod, he’s not so sure Gladio will figure that out.

“Hm? C’mon, where you at?” he says, and suddenly Gladio’s grip is trying to peel him away.

It’s almost too late when Gladio realizes Noctis isn’t supporting his weight at all.

“Woah! Woah, woah there,” Gladio says quickly, loud and then quieter as he narrowly catches him from slumping over the side of the bed, and pulls him back closer to study his face. “You alright, Noct?”

Blearily, he can see Gladio watching him, and feels one of his hands cup his cheek. The heat of it still rivals the horrible flush haunting his own skin—and he should crumble into shameful ash for how embarrassing he must look—but, instead, his eyes flutter and he feels a slow, stupid, dopey smile spread onto his face as he absently preens into the touch.

Gladio huffs a small laugh and rubs his thumb on the skin. “You’re a bit out of it, huh?”

He blinks slowly, and maybe Gladio’s right. More time is passing, but the dizzying haze is still lingering, clearing away all-too sleepily. Even trying to figure out anything to say in response is more labor than he’s prepared to deal with in the moment.

He makes another feeble attempt at a nod, and the way it rubs his skin against Gladio’s palm turns his lips back up into a comfortable smile.

Gladio breathes a laugh again. “Incredible. Alright, hold tight. Gonna settle you down.”

Everything spins, and it’s a lot of moving to see in his vision all at once, so he closes his eyes. It’s easier that way to just focus on the touch of Gladio’s hands over his body again, guiding him down.

He’s laid on his back, and Gladio’s weight settles beside him. A heavy arm crosses over his chest, a hand threads into his hair, and then he’s pulled close right to Gladio’s chest.

Gladio’s fingers move a little, playing with some strands and rubbing lightly over his temple. 

It keeps the edges of his vision blurry with darkness under half-lidded eyes, but he can still see Gladio’s face.

It’s like a dream that he even gets to see him like this so close, and staring at him with an expression so fond and tranquil.

As much as his muscles can manage, he smiles back.

Gladio’s smile gets bigger. “Hmm… never knew you could get like this.” he leans in to kiss his forehead. Before he even pulls all the way back, his thumb rubs under his eyes. “You’re crying, you know? You sure you’re okay?”

He nods slowly, and carefully gathers the strength needed to form actual words. “Y-y-y… you o… kay?”

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Me? Of course, kiddo. I’m great.”

He manages a small snort, “... Y’got hard, dude…”

“Well _yeah_ ,” he laughs. “You were moaning right into my damn ear and came in my lap, I think I’ve got the right to be.”

He flushes and tries to duck his head into his pillow. “... Y’okay though? D’you need…”

A moment passes for him to process and then his eyes widen, but then they soften, and he grins, shaking his head.

“Nah. Not right now. We can talk about doing more later. This was just… well… you didn’t even have to take off your pants, y’know?”

“Yeah… f-f-feels f’ckin’ gross…”

“You wanna shower or change?”

“... Can y’hold me more…”

His expression softens entirely. “Hell yeah, can do. C’mere.”

Gladio pulls him close, presses a gentle kiss in his hair, and Noctis closes his eyes to the soothing warmth of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE: Gladio kisses Noct properly in the morning, I swear. Sleepy kisses for his sleepy prince.
> 
> Thus concludes this awkward little story! Thank you for reading!!
> 
> I'm MUCH more satisfied with the first two chapters after editing them, so I should be totally finished with those now, but now I'm super unsure about this third chapter! Feel like maybe I didn't do a good job at descriptions or communicating the scene.. I don't know if it's a case of It's Actually Bad or if I've just been staring at it too long, sob. I'm gonna try posting it today and come back for edits if anything in particular bothers me, so possibly look out for spontaneous future changes. Like THE TITLE FOR INSTANCE, AGAIN. Still not 100% sure what I want it to be. Really want something that reflects the gauzy feeling of Noctis's delirium but that's a bit difficult to pack into a punchy title! Ah, here lies me, suffering.
> 
> Also, in general, I'm having sad times :( so, if you enjoyed the reading experience, please consider sharing any thoughts you have! I'd appreciate it very much, please and thank you 🙏


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